


Wonder Blasts the Skeleton

by kjack89



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Era, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-04
Updated: 2014-02-04
Packaged: 2018-01-11 04:34:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1168763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joly and Prouvaire bond over the skeleton that Joly acquired for his anatomy studies, and it turns into something more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wonder Blasts the Skeleton

**Author's Note:**

  * For [satb31](https://archiveofourown.org/users/satb31/gifts).



> Title is from a Ravi Zacharias quote: "Wonder blasts the soul - that is, the spiritual - and the skeleton, the body - the material. Wonder interprets life through the eyes of eternity while enjoying the moment, but never lets the moment's revision exhaust the eternal."
> 
> A birthday gift for the Jehan to my Grantaire.
> 
> I own nothing but my typos.

As part of his studies on human anatomy, Joly had acquired a skeleton in decent condition, which he kept in his home for reference. When Prouvaire discovered this, he asked if he might come visit the skeleton, confessing an interest in that which was dead. Joly had long since come to expect such irregularities from Prouvaire, and thus agreed, inviting him to come by.

He admittedly expected Prouvaire to faint at the sight of the dried bones, but he was proven quite incorrect. Prouvaire prowled around the skeleton laid out on Joly’s table, even touching the bones, something almost fond in his touch. “I wonder who he was,” Prouvaire said, almost offhandedly.

Joly shrugged unconcernedly. “It is the fate all men face, to be reduced to their bones so that not even their names remain.

Jehan met his gaze evenly, some hidden depth in those wide, young eyes. “Then I shall have to give him a name,” he declared, and solemnly pressed his hand against the skeleton’s sternum as he intoned, “I dub thee Grégoire.”

“Grégoire?” Joly repeated, hiding a smile. “Does the name have any special meaning?”

Smiling slightly, Jehan shrugged. “It just seemed fitting to me.” He bit his lip, hesitating for a moment, before asking, “Would you mind if I stay for a bit? Converse with the skeleton?”

Joly stared at Jehan. “You want to speak to the skeleton?”

Squaring his shoulders, Jehan asked coolly, “Did not Hamlet speak with Yorick’s skull? There is much that can be discussed more easily among the dead than the living. As the saying goes, dead men tell no tales.”

“And what tales do you have to tell that are for the dead’s ears only?” Joly asked, unable to contain his curiosity

Now Jehan smiled broadly at Joly. “Ah, my dear man, that is for me to know, and for Grégoire to discover.”

Joly laughed and shook his head indulgently. “Very well. I shall leave you to it, then, and will be in my bedchamber if you find need of me.” He left Jehan sitting next to the skeleton, and took one last look at him before closing his bedchamber door, a curious expression on his face.

He had not spent much time alone with Jehan among Les Amis, which was not to say that he was not fond of the young poet, as he was, just as he was fond of all his friends. But he took his entertainment more in the genial company of Bossuet, Bahorel, Grantaire, and copious wine, rather than the poetics and philosophizing that he left to Jehan and Combeferre. Still, the rise and fall of Jehan’s voice through his bedchamber door as he sat at his writing desk was somehow soothing, and he smiled to himself.

So soothing was it that he did not notice as time slipped away until the tentative knock came on his door and Prouvaire poked his head in. “Thank you for allowing me the time with Grégoire,” he said, almost eagerly. “It is not often I find someone so willing to listen, and I have found myself with renewed inspiration in my poems.”

“It was the least I could do,” Joly told him with a smile as he set his pen down on his desk. “I am meant to meet Bossuet and Grantaire for supper soon. If you would like, you could accompany me.”

For a brief moment, Jehan hesitated, looking almost taken aback by the invitation, then he shook his head, something almost shy in his expression. “Alas, I should put these poems to paper before inspiration flees yet again, but I appreciate the offer.” He hesitated once again before blurting, “May I return and visit Grégoire again soon?”

It was Joly’s turn to look taken aback, though he quickly nodded in assent. “Certainly. It would be my — or rather, our — pleasure.”

Jehan beamed at him and gave him an odd sort of bow before showing himself out, and Joly shook his head, smiling indulgently. What an odd sort Prouvaire was, but certainly intriguing. He was still smiling when he met up with Grantaire and Bossuet, and Grantaire even called him on it, peering at him over the top of his wine bottle. “You seem…happy,” Grantaire mused. “Moreso than just your usual cheerfulness, Jolllly.”

“Are you complaining, capital R?” Joly asked, blinking innocently at him. “We cannot all allow ourselves to wallow in melancholy, after all. Some of us strive for a balance of the humors.”

Bossuet laughed and threw a companionable arm around Joly’s shoulders. “Well, whatever you have done to balance your humors, it appears to be working, and I recommend you continue with your prescribed course of action.”

Joly took a sip of wine and nodded, his smile turning contemplative. Jehan was planning on returning, after all, and perhaps whatever his friends noticed was here to stay.

* * *

 

It became an odd sort of routine between the two men. Prouvaire would come to Joly’s when he was feeling uninspired, drawing on the skeleton as his muse. But he would also come when he was bursting with inspiration, talking through his poems and writings in a voice so loud that Joly could hear him clearly through his bedchamber door, where he would willingly retreat if he was home.

At times, he would leave Jehan alone in his rooms, which surprisingly did not bother him. He trusted Jehan, in an odd way, to the point where he instructed his landlady to allow Prouvaire entrance if ever he was not at home.

Jehan’s presence was bizarrely comforting, a steady factor that he found himself enjoying. Certainly he did not see him more than just to let him in and to see him out, letting Jehan spend his time chatting with the skeleton, who Joly had to admit he had started to refer to as Grégoire, at least in his own head. But still, Jehan’s prattling was soothing, and more reliable than Bossuet, who popped in and out of Joly’s home when it suited.

Still, Joly had to admit that it was an odd arrangement, Jehan spending many afternoons at Joly’s but not with Joly, not really, and he found himself wondering about perhaps doing more for their friendship, something that did not involve the skeleton.

As such, one day when Prouvaire arrived, Joly had placed Grégoire in his closet, instead settling himself on his settee to await Jehan, who looked confused upon entry. “Is everything alright?” Jehan asked, a little nervously, sitting across from Joly on the méridienne.

“Of course,” Joly said instantly. “I just thought, perhaps…perhaps you and I could talk today.”

Prouvaire cocked his head slightly. “But where is Grégoire?”

Joly shrugged. “Do you really need a skeleton present to be able to talk to one of your friends?” he asked, slightly teasing.

For a moment, Jehan looked startled, then confused, but then a smile spread almost shyly across his face as he ducked his head. “Of course not,” he said, shrugging as well. “You know as well as any that get me started on an excitable topic and I am liable to not stop talking until told.”

“I doubt you can be as bad as Grantaire in that regard,” Joly muttered, and Jehan laughed.

“Perhaps not, but still.” He bit his lip. “Surely you have better things to do with your time than listen to me discuss the nature of dreams in the sublime.”

Shrugging again, Joly settled back against the settee, a small smile on his face. “To be truthful, I have been listening to you for weeks now,” he admitted. “You do get quite loud when excited, and the door to my bedchamber only so thick. And I have not yet found myself with something better to do than listen, though I may attend to some of my studies while you talk. Your presence is somehow focusing.”

Jehan nodded sagely. “Undoubtedly there is something magnetic in my voice, aligning you to the poles.”

Joly smirked at him. “You attempt to jest, and yet I would not dismiss such a thing as possible, and have half a mind to develop an experiment to prove it so.”

Laughing slightly, Jehan shook his head. “Ah, Jolllly.” He sat up and glanced around. “Do you mind if I fetch at least dear Grégoire’s skull? It will center me, I think.”

“Whatever you wish,” Joly said with a shrug, pulling one of his text books onto his lap for reading.

In truth, the afternoon did not go much differently from other afternoons; the only real difference was that now Jehan would occasionally shoot glances at Joly as he spoke or wrote, at first questioning, but as the afternoon wore on, something different in his expression, as if he was seeing Joly for the first time.

And this afternoon, as Joly offered as he often did, to get supper together before venturing to the Musain for this evening’s meeting, Jehan did not hesitate before agreeing.

They spent their evening meal companionably, chatting as if they had not spent the entire afternoon together. Jehan spoke of his poetry, not in the abstract as he did with Grégoire, but in the definite, of the poems he was hoping to publish or use for the cause. Joly, in turn, shared the progress of his studies, and how he was concerned the unseasonably early autumn chill would send him to his bed with an ague.

Then together they went to the Musain, entering the backroom together, drawing mostly questioning looks from their friends as they parted for their respective corners. Joly sat next to Bossuet, who passed him the wine bottle. “Musichetta has been asking after you,” he said off-handedly.

Joly shrugged, favoring Bossuet with a wry grin. “I am sure that you are keeping her rather busy even without me. I have not seen you at my quarters of recent, so I can only assume…”

He trailed off, ending with a rather lascivious wink, which Bossuet smiled only slightly at. Instead, he glanced over at Prouvaire, who was discussing something with Feuilly. “I just assumed that your quarters were rather occupied of late.”

“It’s not like that,” Joly said quickly, perhaps too quickly, given the raised eyebrow he received from Bossuet. “Jehan makes use of my skeleton.”

Grantaire, several bottles deep across the table, nodded sagely. “That is always how these things work, you know,” he said knowledgably, taking a deep swig. “One day they’re using you for your skeleton, the next for the other parts of your anatomy.”

Joly smacked him none-too-gently in the arm, though he laughed. “Do not be vulgar,” he snorted. “Not all of us have such wishes to have our flesh taken advantage of as you.”

Still, as the talk turned to other topics, Joly could not help but glance at Prouvaire from time to time, the thought lingering in the back of his mind.

* * *

 

This new routine went uninterrupted until one day, on his way out of the Musain, Joly was intercepted by Combeferre, who looked uncharacteristically somber. “Is there ill news?” Joly asked anxiously, glancing at him.

“No, nothing of that sort,” Combeferre said, though his expression did not soften. He led Joly by the elbow into the hall and took a deep breath before asking in a strained sort of voice, “Are you engaging in a love affair with Prouvaire?”

Joly gaped at him, shocked.”I…I don’t…” he spluttered, feeling his face burn. “No, of course not! And I do not know what would have given you that impression.”

Combeferre frowned slightly. “You have been spending much of your time with him of late,” he pointed out evenly. “And neither of you are well known for…abstinence in such regards.”

“Yes, well, we cannot all be Enjolras, can we,” Joly sniped, feeling waspish at the line of questioning.

Now Combeferre’s expression softened. “I did not mean it in that way,” he said quietly. “I only meant that you two are friends, as we are all friends, and certainly none of us would judge if that would turn to something more, but there is the cause to think of above anything.”

Joly frowned at him, though his heart felt oddly like it was racing. “If it were to turn into something more, I shall make sure you are the first to know, but for now, Prouvaire and I are friends and absolutely nothing more.”

He turned on heel and left, trying to keep his shoulders square, though inside his emotions were in turmoil. On the one hand, he took offense at the question, at such a thing being asked of him as if he was given to dalliances of this variety. On the other hand…

On the other hand, the question had only brought to mind how much he wanted it to be true.

That was the crux of the matter, the thought that kept his cheeks burning as he walked home. He and Prouvaire were not engaged in a love affair, but their afternoons spent together were enough to make Joly wish that they were. He had not allowed himself to think as such before now, for he was not foolish enough to dwell on such things, but the idea…the idea had merit.

The idea made his heart feel as if it would fly away on the four l’s in his name, as pronounced by Jehan.

The knowledge that there was no way Jehan returned the sentiment brought his heart crashing back down to earth.

Jehan had only begun visiting Joly for the purpose of his skeleton, and had only continued because the environment helped him. He had no more feelings than friendship for Joly, and for Joly to assume otherwise…

Well, that thought was enough to keep him tossing and turning all night, dreading when Jehan would come through his door the next day and what he would say to him then.

As it turned out, Joly did not need to say anything. Instead, when Jehan burst into the room the next day, it was with a considerably distressed look on his face. “What’s wrong?” Joly asked, rising from the méridienne. Jehan shook his head, and Joly frowned. “You can tell me, if you wish. You look distressed, and I wish only to help.”

“I ran into Courfeyrac on my way here,” Jehan muttered.

Joly raised an eyebrow. “And this is a cause for distress?”

“He asked if we were…if we were…” Jehan blushed almost scarlet, and dropped his gaze before mumbling, “He asked if we were lovers.”

Joly went very still. “Did he indeed,” he murmured.

Jehan glanced up at Joly, still red. “He told me that he had plenty of experience in the care and keeping of doctors and that if I had any questions or concerns, I should not hesitate to discuss them with him.” He licked his lips nervously. “Of course, I told him we were not, but I doubt he believed me.”

“Of course,” Joly said, instantly. “Do not trouble yourself. Courfeyrac loves to stir up such sentiment, you know that. I do not take offense at the question, nor your answer.”

Jehan bit his lip, hesitating, before bursting out, “But it felt like a lie!”

Joly stared at him. “What do you mean?” he asked, the words seeming to stick in his throat.

Once again Jehan’s face was flushed, but this time it did not seem with embarrassment. “I mean that I didn’t quite believe myself,” he said softly. “Certainly we have done nothing more than talk, and yet…”

Though he trailed off, Joly followed his train of thought perfectly, and he blushed slightly as well. “And yet,” he said in agreement. He glanced at Jehan before asking, almost nervously, “Do you want us to do more than just talk?”

“Do I want—oh!” Jehan blushed again, and he looked down at his lap. “Of course I want it, have perhaps for some time now, but I did not think to ask, did not dare to hope, not when you are, well, you, and I am just—”

Joly crossed to him and kissed him mid-sentence, swallowing the words Jehan tried to half-heartedly continue against his lips. “You are not the only one who wants it,” Joly told him with a smile.

Jehan looked at him with wide eyes, then took on an affectedly innocent expression. “Now, Monsieur Joly, before we go any further, I must ask: They say you share everything with Lesgle. Would you share me as well?”

Making a noise halfway between a growl and a laugh, Joly drew him close and kissed him deeply. “I would share you with none,” he said honestly, “be it Bossuet or Grégoire or anyone else who would seek to lay claim.”

Jehan laughed as well, but his eyes gleamed, and he pushed Joly back against the settee as he kissed him almost hungrily. Their kisses turned gentler as they continued, sweet but deep, Jehan’s fingers lacing in Joly’s hair as Joly’s hands settled tentatively on Jehan’s hips. Suddenly, Jehan froze, and he glanced from the settee over at the table. “This may sound rather foolish,” he admitted sheepishly, “but I do not wish to continue with Grégoire watching. It seems…wrong.”

Joly stared at him for a minute before laughing, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Jehan’s shoulder. “I do not mean to laugh,” he said, in between gasps of just that, laughter. “But the idea of the skeleton watching…”

Jehan laughed as well, a light laugh, and shrugged, pressing a kiss to the top of Joly’s head. “Consider it one of my many eccentricities.”

“Well, luckily, there happens to be a room with a highly convenient bed close by,” Joly murmured, drawing back to kiss him. “A bed that we may make use of without the prying…non-existent eyes of Grégoire.”

Standing, Jehan reached for Joly’s hand, pulling him to his feet. “Then let us make use of it.”

When he looked back on it, Joly had no idea how he and Jehan had made it to his bed, so busy were they kissing and groping at each other while simultaneously trying to remove their clothing. Finally, without any casualties, they both stood next to the bed, both undressed, and both blushing like the virgins they were very much not.

But then Joly pulled Jehan close to him and kissed him lightly on the lips, tracing his fingers down Jehan’s bare skin, and grasped Jehan’s half-hard cock lightly in his hand. Jehan gasped against Joly’s mouth as Joly slowly moved his hand, swiping his thumb across the slit.

He thought Jehan might collapse and thus held his hip tighter with his other hand, but then Jehan bent and swiped his tongue across one of Joly’s nipples, and it was Joly’s turn to gasp. “On the bed,” he growled, pushing Jehan back and clambering on after him, settling between his thighs and leaning down to kiss him heatedly.

Their hardening cocks rubbed together, and Jehan’s back arched, his hips rocking up as he tried to rut against Joly, who chuckled lightly. “Patience,” he murmured, pressing Jehan’s hips back against the mattress with one hand while his other once again curled around Jehan’s cock. “We have all afternoon.”

“But I want you now,” Jehan growled, his eyes dark with want, and Joly laughed breathlessly.

“Very well.” He sat up, ignoring Jehan’s whine, and reached for the oil in his bedside table. As Jehan watched with wide eyes, he slicked his fingers and knelt back between Jehan’s thighs. With a gentle touch, he moved his fingers up Jehan’s thighs, letting him relax, and then lightly touched Jehan’s entrance with one finger. Jehan gasped and Joly bent to kiss him until his relaxed again, and then without warning, slid one finger past the ring of muscle and up to his knuckle.

Jehan’s back arched and his hips would have jerked upward without Joly’s firm hand against his hip. Instead, he let out a moan that seemed to go straight to Joly’s cock, which was already fully hard. Joly moved his finger slowly until he deemed Jehan was ready, with Jehan gasping and kissing him harshly. Then he added a second finger, and Jehan cried out. “Don’t stop,” Jehan pleaded, his hips moving in shallow thrusts. “Please, please.”

So Joly didn’t stop, moving and scissoring his fingers until Jehan was practically crying at the sensation. Then he removed his fingers and reached for the oil once more, this time slicking his cock with trembling fingers.

Then he lined himself up, leaned down to kissed Jehan with a deep, open-mouthed kiss, and slowly entered Jehan.

It had been a long enough time for Joly that the hot tightness was enough to make him cry out in tandem with Jehan, whose fingernails were digging into Joly’s back in a way that would surely leave marks. For a few moments they struggled to find their rhythm, both of their breathing harsh as their hips rocked together.

But then they began moving as one, Jehan’s hips rocking up into Joly’s thrusts, which became deeper and harder as he tested both his and Jehan’s limits. They traded harsh kisses as they rutted together, Joly nipping at Jehan’s jaw only to have Jehan bite at the juncture of Joly’s shoulder and neck.

Their pace was firm but not rushed, Joly’s hips snapping in a fast enough pattern to make Jehan whine and moan with each thrust, but not so fast that Joly would come too quickly. Even so, all too soon Joly felt the familiar coiling in the pit of his stomach, and he quickly reached a hand between them to grip Jehan’s cock once more, pumping his fist in time with his thrusts.

Jehan moaned brokenly, his hips stuttering, and he half-shouted, “Joly!” as he spilled his seed over Joly’s fingers.

Joly rode him through his orgasm, his own thrusts becoming uneven and desperate, and finally he gasped, “Jehan!” before biting down on his shoulder as he spent inside of him.

They stayed that way for a long moment, both of them sweaty and breathing heavily. Then Joly rolled off, practically collapsing at Jehan’s side. After a brief, comfortable, silence, Jehan turned and curled against Joly’s side, kissing him gently. “Thank you,” he murmured.

“I feel it is I who should be thanking you,” Joly said, smiling slightly as he returned Jehan’s kiss. “But you are most welcome regardless.”

They spent the next few moments curled up together, each slowly returning to earth. Then Joly pressed a light kiss to Jehan’s temple, running his fingers lightly down the younger man’s side. “Combeferre also asked if you and I were having a love affair,” he told Jehan, almost off-handedly.

Jehan hummed lightly. “And what did you tell him?”

“At the time, the truth,” Joly said honestly, though he also smiled wickedly. “Though now, of course, it would be a lie.”

“Mmm, just as what I told Courfeyrac would also now be a lie.” Jehan kissed him languidly, a wicked smile also crossing his face as he rolled on top of Joly. “Then if we be damned for lying, there is no reason for us not to continue the lie…”

Joly laughed and kissed him. He did not think he had ever been so grateful for the skeleton that Prouvaire had named Grégoire.


End file.
